


The Sixth Sense

by Etheostoma



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Also rooftop makeouts, Character Study, F/M, Happy ending because I'm me, Mutual Pining, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Revelations, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etheostoma/pseuds/Etheostoma
Summary: Beetlejuice was uniquely distinctive amongst the majority of the dead, for even in the midst of his afterlife he remembered what it felt like to be alive. Even after six hundred years, he could remember the sights, sounds, and smells of the living world like he had just crossed over, but he could not escape the curses that accompanied death.





	The Sixth Sense

There were things—many things—that one couldn’t learn about death until one was actually dead. Death was an alternative life, in a way, in the sense that the mind continued on, and the body with it, at least in _some _form. But, abilities shifted, restrictions were imposed, and perception and perspective melted and blurred until the new reality became the only reality.__

__Six-hundred-plus years of being dead had left Beetlejuice with a chip on his shoulder the size of his ego, and a temper to match. He was vindictive, jaded, and unforgiving, wielding his impressive abilities with a self-imposed sense of vengeance and a correspondingly alarming lack of morals. He knew his powers, knew his (few) limits, and he went from there. He reveled in his death, for all that he simultaneously yearned for life, and embraced the warped reality that accompanied his afterlife._ _

__However, he was uniquely distinctive amongst the majority of the dead, for even in the midst of his afterlife he remembered what it felt like to be _alive _. Even after six hundred years, he could remember the sights, sounds, and smells of the living world like he had just crossed over; where most spirits simply adapted to their new realities and lost all sense of their pasts, Beetlejuice clung ferociously to the memory of what he had left behind.___ _

____Death was not forgiving to the senses, though, and centuries spent in the afterlife had left Beetlejuice’s shot to hell and confused beyond reason._ _ _ _

____His sight had expanded beyond all expectation—he had not had bad vision as a breather, and so in death had retained his close-to-perfect living sight. But in death, his jade-green gaze picked up on a heck of a lot more details than it ever had while blood pulsed through his veins. Darkness no longer held any secrets, the mysteries once masked in the thick blanket of night now exposed and raw to his glowing gaze. He could see the difference between living and dead, discern between ghouls and ghosts and any number of the creatures and outcasts that crawled the streets of the Neitherworld, and pick out even the barest flicker of spectral energy on the far-off horizon._ _ _ _

____He never told Lydia, but his power also gave him the ability to discern the lifespan and oncoming death of every living being he encountered, should he desire to know it (though, he had never tried to look at hers—he’d had the thought, once, in the fledgling days of their tenuous friendship, but quashed the urge and never allowed himself to look back). It was a power he simultaneously lauded and dreaded, and one that he was in fact quite thankful (though he wouldn’t put it in such polite terms) that he could “turn off”, so to speak. Nothing like seeing a spectral future self of a breather with his head blown half off to put one off his hauntings._ _ _ _

____Sight was a fickle thing, after death. There were some denizens of the Neitherworld who’d lived with perfect vision, only to cross over and find themselves blind. Others died and awoke with foresight, or hindsight, or the ability to see beyond the shifting realms of reality and between the hazy lines of alternate realities—these never made it long before passing into the welcoming arms of insanity._ _ _ _

____It was one thing to see, but an entirely different animal to _see _.___ _ _ _

______As far as Beetlejuice knew, though, he was the only one with such a unique suite of visionary abilities. He could access every plane of reality in a single glance, and if he turned his head just so and really squinted, he could—on occasion—see through things as well (though Lydia didn’t know about that one either). It certainly helped in the bio-exorcism biz—and it made him a mean hand at poker, too._ _ _ _ _ _

______The adaptations to his hearing he quite frankly enjoyed. Frequency, pitch, volume—none mattered to his hyper-sensitive ears. If it was said within any sort of proximity to his person, he would pick up on it. Lydia had caught on to this incredibly early in their interactions, at first resenting it when he used it against her and the Maitlands, then turning it to her advantage to “overhear” what her classmates were plotting._ _ _ _ _ _

______He was utterly tone deaf, which she found endearing (him, endearing—perish the thought), but could pinpoint an individual’s location based on the faintest of sounds. He thought this was a fair trade, since he’d never cared much for the “nobler arts” anyway—better to be able to rain fire and fury down upon the unwitting than to sing an aria or some other inane shit._ _ _ _ _ _

______Smell was another matter entirely._ _ _ _ _ _

______Death had taken his sense of smell and utterly warped it. Anything enticing, or aromatically pleasing in any way was rendered null and void to his nose. He could not smell flowers, or food, or even the cloying perfume of any of the broads with whom he’d entertained himself over the long years. It was only the disagreeable aromas, or the neutral ones, that continued to bleed through: grave dust, cigarette smoke, stale booze. His nose was tainted by aromas more foul than fair, the sour stench of sweat, or the sharp tang of blood rolling over him in waves. It was an endless list riddled with unpleasantries._ _ _ _ _ _

______Not, of course, that he necessarily minded such a mismatch of malodorous scents—he lived for the repellent, the disgusting, and the sordid, so being condemned to such odors was no skin off his back. Or, at least that had been his stance for the better part of the last six hundred years—it was only during his recent (because what was ten-odd years out of six centuries) friendship with Lydia that he had found himself feeling strangely bereft, as though suddenly all of the scents that he could be smelling were suddenly lurking just beyond reach, taunting him with every fresh wave of earthiness and decay that rolled over his nose._ _ _ _ _ _

______He knew Lydia had some delicately-scented shampoo she used in her shower, but never could he smell it. He could watch her dab a bit of the expensive perfume whose presence in her sock drawer she vehemently denied just behind her ear, but he’d be damned if he could every catch a whiff. On the rare occasions she obeyed the call of nicotine and they shared a cigarette, he could smell the sharp tang of their conjoined smoke, but never caught any essence of her in the mix._ _ _ _ _ _

______Grave dirt and coffin dust were all and well, but for the first time Beetlejuice felt himself wishing for something more. From scent, he couldn’t tell up from down, could not come close to pinpointing her in a crowded room or even smell her when she stood directly beside him. And (some part of him realized to his abject horror) he _wanted _that—he wanted to be able to smell the alluring aroma he knew was uniquely her—a scent he knew that he would know, despite having never had the ability to detect it.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Taste was closely linked to scent, as with any breathers you would meet on the street. His mouth burned with flavor of stale cigarettes, the acrid burn of the Neitherworld liquor he drank, the earthy tang of the bugs he savored. He could taste only the harshest of flavors—more delicate essences were lost on him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The majority of his afterlife had been spent in anger, and in the pursuit of any fleeting moment of pleasure he could seize—driving forward with wild, reckless abandon, never stopping or slowing down and always taking whatever he could to satisfy whatever ephemeral indulgence he chased. He haunted, he destroyed, he flitted from world to world—never satiated, never satisfied._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His powers expanded beyond any that had preceded him, granting him abilities the likes of which had never been seen in the Neitherworld. Even then, though, even before he had the curse placed upon his name, he could still not escape the curses that accompanied death._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He could not smell that which offered pleasure, could not taste anything from the realm of the living. He could see—but his vision was oft accompanied by foretellings of death and despair. Normally, this did not bother him, as he was the Ghost with the Most, and reveled in his death and the powers derived from it. Even in more recent days, he made his peace with it, forging ahead with the same self-righteous anger and greusome humor as he always had._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It was touch he missed the most, though, when he did allow himself a true moment of nostalgia. It was touch that drove him to desire an out, touch that made him yearn to rekindle some form of link to the living world._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He could physically touch things, but no longer could he _feel _them.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His failed marriage was a last-ditch attempt to have some modicum of sensory relief, a compromise between death and life—a cheat to let him keep his powers but still be able to experience all that he had lost. Then that blew up in his face as well, and he was left with a teenaged nuisance-turned-best friend-turned whatever the fuck their relationship had become, and no sense of relief in sight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His lack of sensory perception slid from a generic annoyance to sheer, unbearable torment as the weeks slid into years and she grew from a quirky, unruffled teen to a striking, equally-eccentric adult. They went on adventure after adventure, jumping between the Neitherworld and Lydia’s reality, dancing an elaborate tango of hijinks, adventure, and—more recently—an undescribed tension that just hung heavily in the air, unaddressed and unmoving but so noticeably _there _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Each hug she gave him, each delicate press of her form against his, was the most exquisite torment imaginable. He could feel the pressure of her body against his, her arms wrapping around his neck and her face buried against his clammy skin, but he could not feel the warm flush of her skin, the silkiness of her hair as he rested his chin on her head. All sensation was lost to him in these moments. The softness of her skin was a passing fancy, the warmth of the blood flowing through her veins the barest flush of sensation as opposed to the blazing furnace he knew it was. He could watch her shiver as he outlined her cheekbones with the pads of his fingers, see the goosebumps rise across her skin as he brushed his knuckles across her arms and down along her sides—but he could feel none of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It got to the point where it no longer gave him pause, where he simply knew in the bottom of what was left of his twisted heart that it was just how things were going to be, and that to hope would be akin to breathing—and thus well outside of his qualifications._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The night came, however, when all of these suppositions were turned neatly on their heads._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It began innocuously enough, sitting up on the edge of the roof of Lydia’s modest apartment complex, legs dangling over open air ten stories above the busy city street below. She was wrapped in a thick black cloak he had given her for her birthday (24, and didn’t _that _make him feel old where centuries of afterlife could not), her hands looped through his right arm and her head tucked into his chest. He wore his standard attire of black and white stripes, teeth a little straighter and blond hair a little tamer than perhaps it once had been (Lydia knew he would never admit it out loud, but she had noticed a slight shift in his physique and appearance over the last few years, some of the larger patches of moss giving way to unblemished skin, teeth sorting themselves out into some semblance of order, the outright stench of decay that once rolled off of him in waves giving way to a much more moderate medley of earth and damp air).___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Beetlejuice had a cigarette tucked between his index and middle fingers of the hand not in Lydia’s possession, a thin line of smoke trickling out from between his parted lips as he gave a gusty exhale._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Another year over, huh?” he commented, idly kicking his feet back and forth in the air, heels of his boots hitting the brick façade of the building with a satisfying “thunk” every time his legs swung back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Something like that,” Lydia hummed in agreement, shivering as a particularly vindictive breath of air gusted over them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He pinched the end of his cigarette between unfeeling fingers and let it drop, spiraling down to the asphalt below, and reached over to grasp the edge of her cloak, tucking it more securely around her and effectively cocooning her against his side._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Beej,” she laughed in protest, wriggling against him in a halfhearted attempt to loosen the sloth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“What?” he protested, a maddeningly innocent smirk tugging at his lips. “You were cold, weren't ya? I always forget how easily you breathers feel the elements.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“And in the meantime you feel nothing at all,” she mused in reply, pink tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she cocked her head and leveled him with a pensive gaze. They’d had the conversation long before this night, when she had questioned the apparent ease with which he faced all manner of climates. She supposed it made sense, what with him being dead, but she remained quite horrified (and admittedly fascinated) by his utter inability to feel anything when touched._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Grunting a reply, he turned his head back out to the cityscape rather than respond with words, propping his left hand behind him and leaning back as much he could without costing Lydia her support._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The wind gusted again and she gave up all pretense of dignity, burrowing into his side and wrapping both arms around his waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“We can go inside, y’know,” he drawled, his eyes like twin jade embers as they looked at the pale, shivering form currently pressed against his side._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Oh, but it’s so beautiful up here,” she protested, her head popping back up to lean against his shoulder properly, dark eyes gazing out at the smoke- and smog-filled cityscape beyond. It did hold a certain ethereal beauty, the wide open urban horizon spread out and sprawling before them, traffic racing along below their feet and lights of every color twinkling and flashing in the cold winter air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Yeah,” Beetlejuice muttered, “it is.” He came back to himself with a jolt and tore his gaze from hers, staring hurriedly out at the horizon once again. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and she could feel his shoulders tense beneath her cheek, “and forever on the horizon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________She laced her fingers through his, smoothing her opposite hand over chipped red nails and clammy white skin, tracing fingers that were far too elegant to belong to such a reckless instrument of chaos. “That was almost poetic, B,” she said softly, the gentle pass of her fingertips across his taking the sting out of her teasing words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He shivered at her touch, the gentle caresses sending a rush of desire through his veins. “Lydia,” he rasped, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city lining the horizon, “you have to know what you do to me, Babes.” He flinched as the words left his lips, curling and coiling through the space between them like a gusty exhalation unleashed upon the air. It was far too forward, far to raw and real and exposed for him to have said, here, now, later, _ever _—___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Her hand did not stop its movement, her fingers skipping to trace the purple veins spidering across his pallid wrist. She knew, of course, had known for quite a while—and had returned such feelings and thoughts for quite some time. How did one bridge that gap, though? How did one take the step, take the plunge that would send one tumbling over the edge into the unknown, spiraling outward on a course that had not yet been explored? “And what is that?” she finally murmured, breaking the charged silence between them and lifting their conjoined hands to her lips to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He groaned, a dark, guttural sound low in his throat, eyes flickering shut as he felt the feather light touch of her delicate fingertips. “Torture,” he rasped. “Every moment in your presence, every touch from you that I cannot feel…” His eyes flared a brilliant, glowing green before flickering out as he blinked. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life and it kills me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The breath left her lungs in a puff of air, the inhalation gusting into a cool white cloud in the brisk air. To hear it, to finally hear it even after knowing it for months on end…“Beej,” she said, voice soft and eyes bright. “I—“_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He shook his head, pulling his hand free from her grasp. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, allowing himself a fleeting moment to trace the curve of her cheek before withdrawing. “I’m being stupid.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Lydia tried to mask the hurt she felt at his sudden withdrawal—to finally have him admitting what they both had known, that their relationship had progressed far beyond the standard friendship they had enjoyed throughout her youth, and then reject it... He was still her best friend by far, but they had slipped into a strange dance of give and take, tease and reciprocate. He’d push her to the limit of acceptability, and she in turn would retaliate, each driving the other to the edge in a strange, off-tempo waltz._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________But this—he was all but confessing his deepest secrets, revealing feelings he always vehemently denied he could ever have._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Impulsively, she leaned across and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nestling her head against his neck and pressing her lips to the cold hollow of his throat. She imagined if he still had a pulse it would be racing, and even so she could feel his skin twitch beneath her mouth as he swallowed. He was so solid, for all that he was a ghost—steady and unyielding, a deep-rooted tree unyielding to the worst that life or death had to offer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“You think you’re the only one?” she finally offered, leaning back far enough to meet his startled, moss-colored gaze with a fierce stare. “You think you’re the only one to sit in silent torment because suddenly, out of the blue, superseding all realities of the laws between life and death, you realize you’ve gone and fallen in lo—“ she broke of and turned a deep pink, “really care about—“_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Her tirade cut off for a second time as he swooped in, mentally consigning himself to whatever pit of hell he _hadn't _already graced, and captured her mouth with his, wrapping his arms around her slim shoulders and scooping her into his lap, lips scraping and sliding against hers in a desperate, ferocious, wonderfully intense kiss.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________She moaned low in her throat, lips parting slightly, and he seized his opportunity, delving deeper into her mouth and swallowing her gasp as he slipped one hand up to cradle her head. He could feel Lydia smirk into his mouth, had to bite back a gasp of his own as she grinned into their kiss and licked up into his mouth, and suddenly he was exploding with _sensation _—___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Beetlejuice jerked back in shock, eyes wide open and skin tingling and a network of odors and tastes and feelings dancing across his nerve endings, sending shock waves rippling through the very core of his being. “Shit,” he breathed, a look of awe stealing across his pale face. He could smell the crisp breath of the winter air, feel the bite of the wind across his exposed skin. The smoggy, grease-soaked odors of the city rose upward, mixing and mingling with a darkly enticing aroma that he _knew _had to be Lydia. He moved one hand from her hair to press against his burning lips, careful to keep her secure against him with the other so that she not fall back to the open air beyond.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________“Beej?” she asked, brows drawn in puzzlement, a euphoric flush coloring her alabaster skin, chest heaving as she regained her breath and stared across at him in uncertainty._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________“I,” he started to speak and stopped, running his free hand through his wild blond mane. “Fuck.” He tipped his head down to meet her gaze, and the depth of emotion burning through his green eyes made her breath catch in her chest and a thick band of emotion constrict deep within the core of her being. His pupils were blown, the green she knew so well nearly eclipsed by an overwhelming desire. “Lydia,” he breathed, and this time it was an exhalation of wonderment, “I can _feel _.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________And then he was kissing her again, swooping down and seizing all that she had to offer, sampling every taste and sensation he could process. His hands were insatiable, running up and down her sides, slipping beneath her dark cloak to seek out the hem of her sweater and slip up to caress the silky skin of her waist and back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________They gasped in unison, she at the icy fire of his touch, he at the soft caress of her skin against his._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________His mouth tore away from hers to begin a similar assault on her neck, leaving a series of open-mouth, possessive kisses along the pale column of her neck. He was claiming, he was marking, he was taking what had been offered as his, nipping and tasting and _tasting _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Lydia's hands fisted in the front of his jacket, her body on fire at his icy touch. "Beej," she gasped, writhing against him, seeking contact, delicious friction and anything and everything else he offered._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Babes?" He drew back just long enough to reply, the wild look in his eyes sending a rush of heat pooling in her gut. It was the look of a man who finally had everything he had ever desired--deep and rich and full of unrestrained _passion _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Perhaps somewhere less....precarious?" she offered, combing her fingers through his wild blond mane and tugging just enough to make him hiss, teeth bared in a ferocious grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Your wish is my command," he pressed a cool kiss to her knuckles, tongue flicking out to taste her knuckles. He smirked at her restrained gasp, drawing her tight against his chest and reveling in the scratch of her cloak against his neck, the heat he could feel rolling off of her in waves, the faint trace of perfume and heavy scent of desire that sat low in the air. He snapped his fingers, and--_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________\--they were gone, leaving a cold brick rooftop empty against the backdrop of the night sky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fandom and I apparently have a Thing, and I will continue to be sporadically inspired to write (apparently) rather lengthy one-shots that just start out as me saying "Oh, what a fun idea for a little drabble". I really quite adore the idea of these two together romantically somewhere on down the line of their relationship, adn I will swear forever and a day that they somehow end up friends following the events of the movie (a la the cartoon...). I wholeheartedly plan to have quite a bit of fun with subsequent stories exploring various stages of their quirky relationship, sooooo be prepared? 
> 
> Also, any observed similarities to other fictional universes (cough cursed pirates cough) is entirely deliberate and due to my nostalgic marathon of the original trilogy earlier in the week.
> 
> Comments are love--I promise I'll try to respond and will be happy to nerd out about any related topics.


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